Likeness
by welcome ghosts
Summary: After a devastating war, Rogue gathers the courage to start again. But after heading across country, the kind of new beginning she's been hearing so much about is nowhere in sight. All she has is an ugly apartment and an ever-present Cajun. AU, Romy.
1. New Beginnings

**A/N**: This is wildly AU. As in: The X-Men don't exist. There was a strong anti-mutant movement, which resulted in a war, which resulted in a decimated America. Rogue survived the war, but she's not sure at what cost. Now, she's headed to the West Coast to find out.

No accents here—I hope that's not a deal breaker for anyone. I figured it'd definitely be a deal breaker to try to get through my horrible attempts at apostrophes and _dem_s and _Ahm_s. So. Anyway. Review if you make it to the bottom?

**-x-**

When everything was said and done, most of the mutants who were left headed west. Rogue went, too, after a while, not because she really believed that _new_ _beginning_ tripe everyone else seemed to be swallowing without a thought, but because, well, she had nothing better to do. There was nothing left for her in New York—her old life was gone. No family, no friends, no house, no anything.

The war had taken a lot, both from her and from everyone. Between the bombings and the fighting, so many had been killed. Or worse. Although the government claimed any prisoners taken during wartime had been released, Rogue knew better than to believe that. She knew better than to believe a lot of things now.

And perhaps the worst part was that nothing had been resolved. A treaty had been signed, sure, but it was mainly because there was almost no one left to fight. All that remained were the small number of survivors and the horrible tension between mutants and non-mutants that had started the war in the first place. To have continued would have meant destruction for everyone. Even now, she secretly thought that was still where they were headed. Treaties, at the end of the day, were just paper, just promises that could broken, and Rogue wondered when they would all find themselves back in battle.

But in the meantime, no, there had been nothing better for her to do.

Her current destination was just outside what had once been Los Angeles, but was now mostly rubble. It was a new community for mutants called Cedar Hill. That was the norm now: separate communities set up as safe havens for mutants and normal humans alike. She'd been told about Cedar Hill by a mutant she'd fought with in the war. She'd been draw to it partly because of its isolation, but mostly because of its distance from New York. She was fairly sure that the closest mutant settlement nearby was a place called Mourning nearly two hours north. Whether there would be tension between mutants and non-mutants there was something Rogue didn't want to think about now. And if she didn't think about it, she could _almost _convince herself that she would be living the rest of her life peacefully in Cedar Hill. Because really, if she never had to use her mutation again, it would be too soon.

Her mutation. Even now it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Rogue had never taken the Cure, even though the government offered immunity to the mutants who did so willingly. When it was offered like that, it felt less like the escape she wanted and more like giving in. So she'd kept the damn mutation, using it to fight back against the prejudice as best she could. Trying to protect other mutants. Trying to protect her friends. Herself.

But it hadn't worked. It had just left her with too many voices in her head, too many whispers of _nothing left now_ and _should have died, too_.

She shook her head and told herself sternly not to think of that. She settled back against the bus seat and glanced around. She'd been lost in her own head for most of the trip, and she hadn't given much thought to the people who had filed on and off at each stop. No one was still onboard from when she'd first stepped onto the bus, and she was glad for the lack of familiar faces and what felt like complete anonymity.

Rogue sighed softly. She'd been traveling for what felt like forever. It was slow going getting across the country—mutant or not. Most airports had been destroyed, and the ones that had made it through weren't exactly doling out rides to civilians. Rogue had bummed a ride from a friend of a friend of a friend as far as Chicago, and from there, she'd scraped together enough money for a bus ticket. Thankfully, her mutation was anything that could be seen, and if she pulled her white streaks back into a ponytail, she didn't draw too much attention to herself. Her route had been indirect—full of transfers and stops—but it didn't matter. All that did was that she kept moving. Staying in one place always seemed to mean either her past or her guilt would catch up with her.

The bus she was on now was the one they had transferred to in Flagstaff, the last switch before they reached Cedar Hill (according to the bus driver, they'd be there in less than an hour—Rogue didn't know if she believed that). The bus was old and dingy, and the fabric on the seats was faded and stained. She traced a finger along ugly blue material, wondering absently about the other passengers onboard.

Right now, the bus wasn't too crowded, although it had been at times. Currently, there were two kids, two women (including her), two men, and the ancient driver. Rogue was just glad for the space to spread out. No one had tried to talk to her—let alone sit with her—and she was glad for that. She didn't know if any of them were going where she was going—or even whether they were mutants or not—but she figured all of them just wanted to be left along until they got wherever they were going. The only noise came from the little boy and girl at the front who whispered to each other occasionally, mindful of their sleeping mother beside them.

Rogue had just started to drift off to sleep herself when the bus suddenly slammed to a stop, brakes shrieking. She was tossed into the seatback in front of her, and her eyes sprang open at once. It had been weeks since the treaty—longer since the fighting stopped—but she was still jumpy, still ready for action at moment's notice.

She heard muffled yells from outside, but she couldn't make out the words. She was too far in the back to see what was going on, and the people who _could _see in the front weren't doing anything other than staring slack jawed out the windows. There was scuffle by the door and what sounded like a knock. Maybe the stop was just for people here to check the bus; random checkpoints were exactly unheard of now. Maybe they just—

The bus driver opened the door. "Now, see here," the old man said, a furrow creasing his brow. "What's the meaning of—"

A gunshot rang out, and the bus driver's body jerked back. Blood dusted the windshield in front of him. Dead, Rogue knew.

She shoved that image from her mind and looked at the people who had boarded the bus. There were three men in total. The man with the gun, plus two others who were probably armed, too. All wore dark clothes that obscured their features.

Everyone else on the bus seemed frozen. _Not mutants_, she decided. Or, at least, not ones who ever fought with their mutations. They didn't look like they'd fought on the other side, either. They were probably just regular human passengers looking for a new start. Well, that might be a little unhelpful, seeing as no one looked like they'd done much fighting.

"We don't want any trouble," the first man said, stepping past the lifeless bus driver. _Mr. Snow_, Rogue remembered. The bus driver's named tag had said _Linus Snow._

"No trouble at all," the second man sneered, a horrible grin twisting his features.

The third man let out a laugh, then swung a gun out from behind his back and fired at one of the men sitting on the bus. Rogue didn't need to look too closely to see that he was dead, too. That, if nothing else, would convince everyone else on the bus to stay seated and quiet until the men had gotten what they came for. Even if that happened to be killing them all.

So, no, Rogue thought, these people probably weren't here to check the bus.

The men began making their way down the aisle, each stopping at a different place. She watched in horror as the other passengers were struck over the head, or were told to put their heads between their knees and not dare to open their eyes.

It was the man who had shot the bus driver who ended up at the side of Rogue's seat. He was tall and broad, with dark hair and dark eyes. He threw her a predatory look. "Now, darling," he man drawled. "Something tells me you don't quite belong with the rest of these fine people."

Rogue bit back a laugh—that might have been the understatement of the century. She slipped off a glove and let it fall to the seat behind her. She hadn't been sure what she wanted to do until that moment, but she knew then that she couldn't sit here and watch this happen. She would fight back as best she could; if the war had taught her anything, it was that she was a survivor—whether she wanted to be or not.

In one quick movement, she vaulted forward toward the man. He raised his gun—whether to shoot her or warn her to back off, she didn't know—but she was faster. She dragged a hand down his cheek and braced herself for the oncoming memories. To her credit, she'd gotten better during the war at controlling the amount of information she absorbed. It was now more of a slow trickle in, as opposed to the uncontrollable avalanche it had once been.

But she could still drain someone pretty fast when she put her mind to it, she thought wryly, watching the man slump to the floor in front of her. No, not just a man—his name was Hal Reston. She shoved the memories to the side, ignoring flashes of explosions, of a little boy crying, of the overwhelming feeling of suffocation. _He _wasn't a mutant, but that didn't mean the others weren't. It would have been uncommon for the two kinds to be working together, but not unheard of: Sometimes mixed gangs formed just to wreak as much havoc as possible. Not giving it much thought at this time, Rogue dragged the unconscious man to the seat in front of the one she had been camped out in, not wanting his body to block the center aisle.

But before she had much time to plan her next move, there was shriek at the front of the bus, as one of the other men grabbed the little girl. Rogue couldn't tell what he was doing, but the girl had started to shake, a look of terror fixed in her eyes. The mother, now painfully awake, and the little boy watched on, too afraid to intervene for fear of making things worse.

Rogue stepped toward them, aware of the stares from the passengers who hadn't been subdued, but was cut off almost immediately by the second man. Like the first man, he had a gun. And also like the first man, that gun was pointed at her. She sighed. All she had wanted was a peaceful bus ride. All she had wanted was to make it to Cedar Hill and to have a quiet life away from the destruction left in the wake of the war.

"And where do think you're going, missy?" the man growled.

Apparently not to save the little girl and her family. Rogue raised her hand toward the man, but he seemed almost ready for her. He caught her across the cheek with the gun, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her vision flickered, but she focused her attention on the man in front of her, refusing to lose consciousness.

Then, from the corner of her eye, Rogue saw someone else walk onto the bus. He was too far away for her to see anything but a trench coat—not to mention that she was a little preoccupied with the gun in her face. She struggled to get to a position that would allow her to touch the man; his gun and determination to kick her a few times while she was down was making that a little difficult.

"You might be more trouble than you're worth," the man hissed. The gun was now aimed at her heart, and Rogue didn't think she'd escape with just a blow across her face this time.

Still, despite the seriousness of the situation, she tried to keep from laughing because, well, wouldn't it just the funniest thing to have survived the war only to die like this? A sound halfway between a chuckle and a sob snuck out before she could stop it. The man didn't seem to find her amusement amusing. As he cocked the gun, Rogue shut her eyes—and maybe, just maybe, she was tired of fighting, so worn out and exhausted and ready for this to end—and waited.

But the shot never came. Instead, there was a loud thud as the man toppled sideways into the seat, his head cracking against the window. The fourth person who had boarded the bus—the man in the trench coat—was staring down at her. He'd apparently made it past the first man, the one who was still tormenting the little girl and the other passengers, and had come to the back of the bus to help her. God only knew why.

Rogue stood shakily, met the man's gaze, and bit back a noise of surprise as she got a good look at his eyes. He just grinned at her.

"Well now, chère," he said, tone light, like he was about to talk to her about the goddamn weather or something. "Looks like you could use some help."

The man turned back around then, and Rogue didn't have a chance to reply before the force of an explosion knocked her back to the floor.


	2. Aftermath

**A/N: **To the four of you who reviewed the first chapter, I am eternally grateful. You all are the best! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint—it's a little shorter, but I just wanted to get everyone off the bus! Review if you make it to the bottom! (:

**-x-**

_Ouch_.

When the light from the explosion faded, Rogue couldn't concentrate on anything but the sharp pain radiating through the back of her head at the spot where she had collided with the seat. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her vision back to normal—double everything didn't seem like the greatest idea at the moment. She was faintly aware of the commotion around her—exclamations from the still-conscious passengers, what sounded like settling debris, a shriek—but it seemed so far away, so separate from her own little world, that she didn't pay it much attention.

Rogue straightened from position crumpled on the floor when everything stopped lurching and spinning around her, but she didn't try to stand. She knew she should probably be springing back into action like she'd been trained to do during the war, but she couldn't summon up the energy. A common theme, she realized, not having the energy for any of this.

After what felt like ages, but what she knew was only a moment, a gloved hand appeared in her line of sight. "You stay down there, chère, and you're going to miss all the fun."

_Cajun_, Rogue thought suddenly. That accent was definitely Cajun. After filing away the obvious question of why someone from Louisiana was playing hero right outside Cedar Hill of all places, Rogue let the man pull her up. She tried to wince and managed to only stagger a little once she was back on her feet. But besides the bump on her head and some lingering dizziness, she wasn't any worse for wear. All things considered, at least.

"All right?" the man asked, watching her with those strange eyes. He was taller than Rogue had realized. Tall and lean, with dark hair. He flicked a look back over his shoulder—at the last man who'd boarded the bus, she knew—before turning his gaze back to her.

Rogue nodded. "But next time you blow things to hell—" She tossed a pointed look in the direction of the second man, collapsed in the aisle. "—some warning would be nice."

"And ruin the element of surprise?" He grinned, shaking his head. "Never."

Her snappy reply was cut off as the man turned around and headed back down the aisle. The final man had finally taken his attention away from the children and their mother, and had seemed to take notice of Rogue and her apparent ally. Whether he cared that his two henchman weren't going to be moving anytime soon, she wasn't really sure.

"You again," the man growled at the Cajun. "Thought you learned your lesson last time."

The Cajun shrugged. "Guess it didn't stick."

Rogue stood silently, ignored or forgotten by both men, and watched as they advanced toward each other in the narrow aisle. She wished there was something she could do, but she was afraid to get in the middle of something she clearly didn't understand. Besides, it would be nearly impossible to navigate this space well enough to get a hand on the man.

A sort of surreal silence fell over the bus, and it seemed the two men were about to start their fight, when sirens suddenly rang shrilly around them. Some kind of police force, she guessed. It could have been a mutant squad or otherwise, and at this point, Rogue didn't really care. Either way, they probably couldn't be trusted.

Both men paused at the same time, each straining to hear where the sirens came from. Then, before either Rogue or the Cajun could react, the other man turned and bolted off the bus, without a word or a glance back at them.

Rogue moved instinctively forward, thinking to follow him, but the Cajun held out a hand to stop her. She noticed that something—_was that a playing card?_—in his other hand was glowing a strange magenta color, but said nothing. His mutation, she supposed, was being able to charge objects. That would explain the explosion, at least, and the reason why the damage from the blast had been limited and controlled (save for the bump on her head, at least).

A dark looked passed over the man's face, as he sat down in one of the bus seats. "He'll be gone. No use chasing him now." Then, almost as quickly as it had come, the angry expression cleared and he grinned at her, bright and blinding. "Besides, I'd rather spend the time with a _belle _like you."

Rogue sat down heavily on a bus seat, but said nothing. Despite the grin on the man's face, she knew he was just filling the silence that had returned to the bus. In any case, it seemed understood that they would stay here and make sure the other men wouldn't wake back up. She glanced around at the two unconscious bodies. The one who had been hit by most of the explosion—here, she had to bite back to urge to ask about the Cajun's mutation—had gotten the worst of it. The man she had drained—_Hal Reston, _she reminded herself—would be fine in a few hours. She wasn't sure she could say the same for his companion. She guessed the police would take care of it.

_The police._ Rogue sighed. What on _earth _would they think of this? The two male passengers and the bus driver were dead, and one of the women looked nearly unconscious. The mother at the front of the bus was bleeding from a nasty cut on her arm, and Rogue's fingers had come away tipped in red when she'd gingerly touched the bump on the back of her head.

And the little girl—well, she was sitting, staring vacant-eyed at something no one else seemed to see. Her mother and brother were talking to her in an attempt to get a response, but it looked like nothing was working.

No one, though, seemed in a hurry to get off the bus. Everyone seemed shell-shocked, frozen to their seats, waiting for the police to come and take care of everything. Whether that would happen—well, Rogue didn't put much stock or trust in anyone else at the moment.

The sirens were right outside the bus now, the flashing lights casting colors through the windows, and Rogue could hear the officers' voices calling to one another, preparing some plan.

"Well, chère," the Cajun began, the sound of his voice startling her just a little, "that's my cue. It's been a pleasure." He stood from the bus seat in one fluid motion, seeming even taller than he had before from this position. "You can get these bastards safely to the police, _non_?"

Rogue nodded, trying to keep from showing her disappointment that he was leaving her here by herself. "Sure thing, sugar," she said.

He gave her a brief look, as if to reassure himself that she was telling the truth, then started to leave. Rogue watched him move down the aisle with a sort of innate grace, wondering who on earth he was.

"Wait!" she called before she could stop herself. He turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. "You got a name?"

He smiled crookedly, taking a few seconds to consider her. "Most people around here know me as Gambit."

"Gambit," she repeated, testing it. After a split-second hesitation, she added, "I'm Rogue." She was well-aware that he had sidestepped her question—his name and what people called him weren't necessarily the same—but since she was exactly spouting off her own real name, she didn't push it.

He nodded. "I'm sure we'll see each other soon, Rogue." He flashed her a grin, then moved quickly back down the aisle and out the door.

Rogue watched through the window as the man—_Gambit_—slunk around the corner and disappeared from sight before the police officers could notice he was there. They seemed to concerned with deciding how to approach the bus to see a man in a trench coat leaving it. Rogue shook her head—if she was still hoping to find some competent help, she was setting herself up for disappointment.

Still, she guessed she should go tell them that the intruders were gone, and give them an idea of what had happened. She figured no one else on the bus was going to be much help in that matter. She just hoped they wouldn't mention the explosion, or the way she had taken down one of the men. It would be much easier to get away from this if she kept the details as sparse as possible.

With a sigh, Rogue stood to go greet them—to answer their questions, to ask her own, and then get the hell away from this place. She walked down the aisle, well-aware of the looks the two women were giving her. They were, she knew, just as wary of her as they were of the two unconscious men. And she didn't blame them, not really. Even if she had been helping, she had still knocked a full-grown man to the floor with a touch of her hand.

Rogue had made it to the front of the bus, just past the dead body of the bus driver, when she felt the rub of some sort of object in her jacket pocket. Curious, she reached in, only to pull out a playing card.

With another sigh and a confused shake of her head, Rogue stepped into the crisp evening air, the Queen of Hearts clutched tightly in her fingers.


	3. Omission

**A/N: **Seriously, thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far! I'm still trucking along, and y'all's support means the world. And CaptMcKenzie, have you been peeking at my story notes? (;

If you make it to the bottom, drop me a review! I'd love to hear from everyone—good or bad!

**-x- **

It was colder out than she had realized. Even with the sounds of blaring sirens and strident voices, that was the first thing she noticed. Rogue tugged at the collar of her jacket, hoping to find some extra bit of warmth, and stepped a little further away the bus. She kept the Queen of Hearts in her hand, drawing some strange comfort from it, despite her confusion and annoyance at the man she assumed had snuck it in her pocket. Why he had felt that a _playing card _of all things would make up for his leaving her to deal with this alone, she had no idea.

Around her, everyone and everything seemed to be in full motion. There was an ambulance and two police cars—at least, she was still assuming they were police and not something else—and a few officers were moving around each. They were barking orders and gesturing at the bus; Rogue supposed they were finalizing a plan. She wondered if she'd have to be the one to tell them that they were completely and utterly too late.

She had only taken a few more steps forward, when two officers moved quickly past her and onto the bus, a paramedic trailing behind them. They paid her absolutely no attention, which, Rogue supposed, was a good thing. There were people on the bus who needed medical attention—including two of the intruders—and she half-hoped everyone would be too busy with that to deal with her. She was beginning to regret her decision to report what had happened (and beginning to wonder if she should have slipped off the bus after Gambit.)

But, in spite of her misgivings, Rogue moved another few feet toward the closest of the officers. He looked pretty young from back here—and he wasn't nearly as large as one of the other officers there. (Something that might come in handy if she discovered no one was particularly mutant friendly and she needed to make a quick escape.) She was just about to say something to the man, who had finally seemed to realize she was there, when she spotted the side of one of the cars.

_Cedar Hill Police_.

So the bus driver had been right after all—they had been close to her final destination. _And to his_, Rogue thought dryly.

"Miss? Excuse me, miss?"

Despite the fact that Rogue had been about to talk to the man, it took a few seconds for her to realize he was addressing _her._ Seeing Cedar Hill in neat block lettering on the side of the squad car had pulled her away from the scene around her—and not to mention that she couldn't remember the last time anyone had called her _miss_.

She looked up at the man trying to get her attention and tried not to laugh. He was just as young as she'd thought from far away. Probably about her age. A rookie, maybe. He had light hair and nice eyes. Cute, too. Cuter than she would have guessed, she thought, before wondering why she even cared.

"Yes?" she said.

It was then that Rogue realized it might have been more…_prudent_ to have announced herself, or to have said something about what she was doing, rather than to have just staggered off the bus and over to the side of one of the police cars. These people had no idea who she was—_what _she was—and considering the state of the bus, she didn't think they'd need much of a reason to arrest her. Or worse. The war had made everyone jumpy, and you could justify the means to almost any ends. But, of course, she'd just run off the bus, hoping to explain, not thinking enough before acting. Acting on emotion, as always.

The man's voice intruded on her thoughts. "I just wanted—"

"I didn't—" Rogue cut across him suddenly. "It wasn't—" She took a breath, collecting her thoughts. "Three men boarded the bus and started, I don't know, _terrorizing _everyone on it." Another breath. "I'm not responsible."

To her complete surprise, the man smiled. "I know," he said. "I wasn't going to suggest you were. We have a pretty good idea who's behind it, actually. One of the guys on the force—" He nodded over his shoulder at an officer who was now heading toward the bus, too. "—his brother was driving near you guys when it happened. He called it in; gave us a pretty good description, too. It's not the first time it's happened, but the bastards are always gone by the time we get here."

"Two of them are in there." She jerked her head toward the bus.

A panicked look spread quickly over the man's face. "_Alive_? They're still there?"

Rogue shrugged. "Unconscious. One got away."

"Well," the man said, expression clearing, "that could be a start. I'm sure it's not who we really want, but..." He shook his head and focused again. "Sorry. I should probably take your statement now."

Rogue didn't respond right away. Over the man's shoulder, she could see the two children and their mother being shepherded off the bus. The little girl was still watching the world around her through vacant eyes. She pulled her gaze away from them and looked back at the officer. He'd pulled a notepad out without her noticing, and as she watched him raise the pen to paper, she caught sight of the man's name tag. _Drake_ was stitched in white lettering on his uniform.

"All right," she said finally.

He gave her a reassuring look. "We'll start easy. Name?"

She hesitated for a short second, not long enough for him to notice anything strange, but long enough for her to wonder if she should give her real name. A real name for a real start. It was poised on her lips, waiting on the tip of her tongue, but instead she said, voice firm, "Rouge."

He arched an eyebrow. "Rogue?" he repeated. His tone hinted he wanted her to elaborate, that he was waiting for her to say more.

She smiled thinly. "Rogue."

He nodded after a moment. She might have expected a little more suspicion over her name, but she had the feeling he had dealt with shadier characters than herself, even as young as he looked. "Oh—I should have introduced myself. Bobby Drake," he said.

"Nice to meet you," Rogue said flatly.

"Likewise. And I'm guessing you're new to the area," he began. "I know most everyone around here, and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you around. I think I would remember." He smiled, but she didn't return it.

"I'm from New York," she said. "That bus was taking me to Cedar Creek.

His smile turned apologetic. "I guess this wasn't the best welcome to the community.

"Guess not." She was getting closer and closer to being hostile, she knew, but she didn't want to spend more time than necessary with Drake, even if he happened to be young and good looking. She was tired and sore and _alone_, since Gambit had scampered off to who knew where. Behind her, the ambulance's shrill siren sounded again, a sign that the rest of the passengers had been safely taken off the bus. The two attackers, too, she knew.

"Well," he continued, "if you could just describe what occurred..."

And so Rogue explained, in as much detail as she could, what had happened. She fudged a few things, of course, blaming the two men's unconscious state on her fighting ability alone. It wasn't too much a stretch, honestly—most people had some hand-to-hand combat training with the war. She wasn't sure why she'd left out Gambit's arrival, but it had seemed like the right thing to do. In any case, Rogue thought she might have gotten away scot-free, if it hadn't been for the return of the officer whose brother had called in the incident.

"Drake, I need you for a second," the man called, motioning for him to come over. His tone was brisk, and Rogue thought his expression looked vaguely troubled.

Drake glanced at her, expression once again apologetic. "Be right back."

Rogue shrugged, indifferent to whether he stayed or went, and fiddled with the Queen of Hearts she still hadn't let go of. She couldn't really hear what the other officer was saying, but it looked to be something important. He was gesturing about something, and Rogue caught _melted _and _smoke_ when she made a little more of an effort to eavesdrop.

They had, she realized with a start, found evidence of Gambit's explosion.

Rogue tried to mask the alarm she felt creeping over her face as Drake returned. Maybe her omissions had been a mistake...

"All right, Rogue," he began, "looks like you're good to go. Someone will probably be contacting you in a few days to go over today's events, but, until then, you're free to enjoy Cedar Hill." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Since your ride didn't quite turn out, we'd be happy to give you a lift in the squad car."

Rogue shrugged. Better than walking, she supposed. "Sure."

Drake grinned, then added, "Oh and just one more question."

She raised her eyebrows and waited for him to continue.

"You're sure one else was on the bus?" The tone was even, not accusatory, but Rogue still caught the flick of his eyes toward the card she was holding at her side. "No one could have snuck on when you were distracted?"

She didn't move the card, for fear of drawing more attention to it. Drake clearly was familiar with Gambit—and the Cajun had been on edge as soon as he heard the sirens. What on _earth _had she walked into?

Rogue gave a second's thought to confessing that she'd had help—had been saved, if she were being honest—by someone else, but sudden instinct froze the words in her throat.

Instead, in as convincing a tone as she could muster, she said, "No, there was no one else."


	4. Company

**A/N**: Home sweet home for Rogue! Well, sort of...

And sorry for the delay between chapters—RL has been out of control. As always, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! I love hearing from readers, so for sureee drop me a line if you make it to the end of the chapter! (Especially those of you putting it on alert. I see you! Say hello!)

**-x-**

"This is it?" Officer Drake asked, his tone dubious. The question hung in the air between them as he stopped the squad car in the small parking lot outside the Castle Point Apartments complex. The lot was mostly empty, save for a few beat-up sedans and one dirty pickup truck.

Rogue took a better look at the building that she'd been eyeing warily since they'd turned down the street. The complex itself was smaller than she would have guessed, only two floors. She was on the bottom, unit 1J.

It was dreary and run-down, and looked absolutely nothing like she'd always a home in California would. To be fair, though, the war meant _nothing_ was like it used to be—_and I guess the California housing situation is no different,_ Rogue thought dryly. Still, something that didn't call to mind a _prison _would have been nice.

"Yeah," she said aloud. "Yeah, this is me." She tried to sound happy enough about it. She didn't need to be unloaded her doubts on a stranger.

"I'm not down here too much," he said. "It's a pretty all right area." He paused, grinning. "Even if it doesn't look like much."

"That's good to hear," Rogue replied. She was starting to get fidgety, eager to get into her apartment and back into her regiment of solitude.

The doors unlocked, like he was reading her thoughts, and Rogue unbuckled her seatbelt. "Well, thanks for the ride and... and for everything from earlier."

"Don't mention it." Then, Officer Drake—_Bobby_, he had reminded her during the drive to her apartment, _just call me Bobby_—said he'd been in touch within the next week. Follow-up questions, he explained. "So don't head out of town just yet," he added with a smile. "I'm sure it's not what you pictured, but Cedar Hill really does have its perks."

Rogue nodded. "I'm sure the charm won't be lost on me once I've slept for a day or two."

"See you around, Rogue."

"Bye," she said, scrambling out of the car with what she hoped didn't look like too much eagerness. She shouldered the duffle bag from New York that she'd returned to the bus to grab after she was done talking to Bobby. Not much was in it—mostly clothes—but it was pretty much all she had. With a short wave, Rogue shut the door, then hurried toward the building as she heard the squad car drive away behind her.

Rogue walked inside, trying not to be too disheartened by her surroundings. She already had her key, which thankfully saved her a visit to the super or the landlord—if she didn't have to talk to anyone else for the next month, it would be too soon. Since the complex was so small, it didn't take her long to find her unit—1J. She unlocked the door, suddenly a little nervous for what she'd find. Everything about trekking across the country had seemed so... so _abstract, _that to finally be here seemed almost surreal.

And as soon as she got the door open, that feeling disappeared, sending her back to reality all too quickly.

The apartment itself was miserable. It practically made the outside of the building look like a dream. It was small and cramped, poor laid out and had a slightly sour smell to it. It looked like the kitchen and the living area were the same—maybe she could cook from her spot on the sofa, she thought dryly—and she knew the bedroom would be just as small.

Rogue knew she had only herself to blame. When she'd heard of the apartment in Cedar Hill being available, she'd jumped at the opportunity to rent it. She hadn't given much thought to its size or—she glanced around, grimace in place—its chances of passing any sort of health inspection. But it was all she had, and she'd have to make due. The alternative was heading back to the life she had left behind in New York, and that wasn't an alternative at all.

She threw her duffle unceremoniously onto the peeling kitchen counter and looked around. A lot of the furniture had been left by the friend of the friend of the friend, and although Rogue wasn't entirely convinced that was a good thing, it saved her from some of the trouble that would come with trying track down things like a bedside table in a post-war community. She'd had the things in her apartment that had survived the fighting shipped across country before she left, and the super at Castle Point had let them into the unit to set it up. Her bed, her couch, and her dresser. But that was about it.

Rogue had sent most of her personal decorations—pictures, art, a few knickknacks that had been gifts from now-dead friends—down the trash chute before leaving. There were moments when she regretted that, the rash flash of emotion that had sent her through her old apartment, tearing things down, breaking a few possessions in the process. But mostly, she just thought it was easier this way. Having fewer things around meant fewer chances of being sent back into memories that she didn't _ever _want to relive.

Shaking her head, Rogue looked around the "kitchen." She turned on the sink to find that the water was fine, and then tentatively opened the fridge, only to be met by a slightly moldy smell. Ew. With a sigh, she went back to the couch and grabbed her water bottle from the bag. She had suddenly realized how thirsty she was, and the water was clear enough, at least. After a few seconds, she realized there was no ice, and the sink water was lukewarm at best.

Time to go exploring for the ice machine, Rogue guessed, hoping she wasn't overestimating the apartment by assuming there'd be one here. She opened the door and walked into the hallway. It was mercifully empty, something that she was endlessly grateful for. She was here for her "new life," sure, but that didn't mean she had to make friends. Or like her apartment. Or really want to start over at all.

Rogue glanced to both sides, trying to guess where she thought the ice machine would be. The hall stopped to the right, so she turned left and headed down the corridor. She passed a few other units, but didn't hear any signs of life. That wasn't too surprising, actually, considering how empty the parking lot had been.

After a few more steps, Rogue had reached what she supposed was the utility room. Glancing inside, she could see a washer and dryer, along with the ice machine and a vending machine that seemed to only stock Cheez-its.

"Hi!"

Rogue started at the sound of a voice and spun around. She had a hand on the end of a glove before she realized that the speaker was a girl maybe a few years younger. She was smiling broadly, wearing bright colors that matched her tone. Rogue couldn't help but think that she looked completely at odds in the run-down apartment complex.

"You must be the new tenant!" she chirped. "I was wondering when you'd get here. It been, like, ages since Marietta moved out."

_Marietta_. The friend of the friend of the friend… If Rogue ever caught up with her, she'd have to have a word about leaving apartments in a state of disrepair. "Yeah, that's me."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're a girl! Not that I hate guys or anything," she continued, "but it's nice to have an ally, if you know what I mean." Rogue nodded along, unsure of how to respond. "I'm Kitty, by the way. Well, Katherine Pryde, but everyone calls me Kitty. So, yeah." She smiled again, practically vibrating with energy. "I'm Kitty."

There was a brief pause before Rogue realized she was supposed to fill the silence by introducing herself. _Right_. "Oh, um, I'm Rogue."

"Well, welcome to Cedar Hill! Have you met everyone yet?" she asked, nodding behind her at the other units on the hall. If Kitty had found her name strange, she gave no hint of it.

Rogue shook her head. "No. I just got here today. A few minutes ago, actually." Maybe she'd get the hint… "I just needed some ice."

Kitty waved her off, wide-eyed. "You don't want to use that ice machine, trust me. Actually," she continued, her tone turning thoughtful, "you probably shouldn't use anything in the building that you didn't buy yourself." Rogue's alarm at hearing this must have registered on her face, because Kitty kept going, "Oh, god, I'm doing it again, aren't I? Talking too much? Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out—the building's pretty nice, all things considered. A lot of the complexes got hit pretty hard in the war, but we still have running water and heat, so that's something."

"Oh." Maybe the area had been hit even worse than Rogue had thought. She wondered what the rest of the surrounding area looked like—she guessed that even if Cedar Hill had escaped a lot of the destruction, the neighboring towns hadn't.

Kitty continued, pulling Rogue from her thoughts. "Well, I'm sure you want to unpack and everything, but let me know if you need anything. I'm, like, two doors down on your right. And I'll introduce you to everyone else later—I think most people are gone right now, actually. But if you run into Logan, don't worry—he's not as mean as he seems. Well, he sort of is, but he means well. I think." Kitty shrugged. "And everyone else is _super _nice, so don't worry!"

"That's good," was all she could think to say.

Then with a, "It was nice to meet you, Rogue!" the girl turned and went back the way she came.

Rogue took a breath. She felt a little worn out just _talking _to Kitty. With her plan to get ice vetoed, she headed back to her apartment. As she passed the other rooms, she finally let herself think about something that had been bothering her since she'd left the scene of the bus accident.

When she'd left New York, she'd been under the impression that Cedar Hill was a mutant community. Sure, she'd guessed there would be a few non-mutants there, but she'd been expecting… well, she'd been expecting everyone to be a bit more _open _about everything. She'd thought everyone would seem _different, _but, so far, everyone had just seemed _human. _

_To be fair_, she thought, a hand unconsciously reaching up to touch a strand of white hair, _most of us look normal enough_.

She opened the door, trying to imagine what Kitty's mutation would be—or Bobby's, for that matter. Officer Drake hadn't said anything about mutants in Cedar Hill, but something had been causing enough trouble for him to seem cautious. There was the chance one of the attackers from the bus—the one who'd gotten away—was a mutant, but she couldn't be sure.

As of now, the only mutant she had really seen was, well, Gambit. And herself, too, if she wanted to get technical about it.

Rogue set her water bottle back down by her bag, and reached into her jacket pocket. The Queen of Hearts was still tucked innocently away, no trace of anything to indicate the circumstances under which she'd gotten the "gift." She wandered—which meant took about one step—through her apartment and into the impossibly small bedroom. For a lack of anything better to do, she stuck the card in the top drawer of her nightstand.

It was then, standing by the bed that reminded her forcefully of New York, that she realized how utterly drained she felt. Not just from the events from earlier that day, but from the past few years. The war had taken so much from all of them—friends and family, the ability to ever let their guards down completely.

Rogue would explore the rest of the town and the apartment building later. For now, all she wanted to do was sleep until well into the next week. Or year.

With a yawn, not bothering to change her clothes or take off her shoes, Rogue collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

She didn't wake up until sometime the next afternoon—

Not until the fire alarm was ringing shrilly and someone was banging at her door.


End file.
